


Ether and Miranium

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2, Xenoblade Chronicles X
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Elma is an enigma. Mòrag's pretty curious.





	Ether and Miranium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plushienator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plushienator/gifts).



> happy belated birthday to Plushie!! and happy birthday to myself lmao.
> 
> i had kind of a tough time rationalizing why Elma would stick around with the party, in comparison to Shulk and Fiora having come from their post-game. but in the end this is just a short thing that came from Extreme Thirst so the technicalities don't really matter i guess.
> 
> edit: wait holy shit i completely forgot ether is one of the elements in xcx UH WHATEVER THEY NEVER ACTUALLY MENTION IT IN THE GAME SO SCREW IT

“The closest equivalent to the ether of your world,” Elma says, dirt crumbling between her fingers, “would be miranium. The applications couldn’t be any more different, but I can’t explain it in any other way. There’s just something oddly familiar about it…”

She hasn’t allowed anyone to wield her weapons, despite Zeke’s pouting and Nia’s mumbled comments about her being _stuffy._ There’s no real reason for Elma to take on the role of a Blade anyway, because she is of BLADE, not of Blades… whatever that had meant. So the guns are off limits. So are the swords.

Zeke really, really wanted to try using the guns, but Elma’s steadfast glare was enough to make him back off the first time he had tried asking.

The patch of dirt she’s inspecting isn’t any different from all the other dirt that cakes Mor Ardain’s body. Mòrag watches her from the corner of her vision. Everyone else had elected to retire to the hot springs, but Elma chose to come out here instead, in the wastes that border the outskirts of Alba Cavanich.

For sightseeing, supposedly. But so far she’s just been touching the dirt and hypothesizing about the similarities between ether and miranium.

“But your world doesn’t have Titans,” Mòrag says, recalling something Elma had mentioned before.

“Right. It’s incredible, really. To be honest, I still have trouble wrapping my head around it.” Elma stands up, brushing off her palms. “The sheer energy that these continental beasts need just to sustain their bodies is staggering. But they don’t even eat. They run off of the _ether._ ”

Mòrag nods.

“… It’s something about the Cloud Sea,” she says, looking out at the dusky horizon. The tides are low today. Mor Ardain’s lower body is completely exposed to the air. “I’d like to see what’s beneath it.”

“Even the most experienced salvagers have been unable to break through the bottom.”

“No offense,” Elma says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “But your world’s technology is downright primitive to what I’m used to.”

Normally, Mòrag would indeed take offense to this and go off on a rant about Mor Ardain’s rapid development compared to the other nations, but she’s seen Elma cleaning her guns and she’s heard the things Elma had spoken of.

Elma may not know much about Alrest, but she knows a great many deal about other things. A part of her is tempted to humble herself before this strange woman and beseech her to share her knowledge for the sake of the Empire’s research and development, but she has a feeling Elma wouldn’t divulge her world’s technological secrets so quickly.

Besides, Mor Ardain probably doesn’t even have the resources to build the things that Elma sometimes talks about.

Mòrag’s never felt so small standing beside someone.

“I don’t mean to brag, of course.” Elma says, not at all bothered by the awkward silence. “Your nation’s accomplishments are impressive in of themselves as they are. We could learn a lot from each other, Special Inquisitor.”

The way the title rolls off her tongue is like honey dripping in Mòrag’s ears.

“Just Mòrag will suffice.”

“Alright… Mòrag.” Something in Elma’s eye glints, and Mòrag averts her gaze. “I’m not a fan of titles, either.”

“That’s not it—“ she swiftly clears her throat. “… Familiarity is important, when it comes to fostering camaraderie. A first-name basis helps.”

“Hm, is that so?” Elma folds her arms. “Irina still calls me Colonel, no matter how many times I tell her not to. Well, I suppose things would be different here.”

Ether, miranium, Blades, BLADE… and Nopons. It’s always the Nopons. At least they can rely on the Nopons to be the same. Tora’s the nosiest about prying Elma for details about what her world is like, and she’s always eternally patient even when the questions get too long and convoluted, but somehow her answers only ever leave more loose ends. Not that it bothers Tora, because he loves playing the whole 20 Questions game with Elma until Nia tells him to put a sock in it and stop bugging her.

Mòrag prefers to take a more subtle approach. Trade info for info. But with how secretive Elma seems to be, mostly in regards to talking about _herself_ , she constantly needs to remind herself to stay vigilant.

As far as any of them knows, Elma may not even be human. Sure, she may not be a Blade, and she’s a BLADE, but what does any of it really mean?

But Elma is so patient and amicable beneath that steely cool veneer, and she’s _stunning_ to watch in battle, and Mòrag can see why she would have been a high ranking official in her world’s military.

She’d… like to feel her weapons in her own hands, but Mòrag at least has more tact than Zeke than to boisterously ask her directly to her face. She can’t just _ask_ , especially when Elma is a BLADE and not a Blade. Trust needs to be built. An alliance. Friendship.

It starts with learning more about each other. But that’s difficult when Elma only seems willing to talk about Mira and Earth, and not about herself.

Mòrag doesn’t even realize how long she’d been lost in thought until Elma gently coughs.

“Are you alright there, Mòrag?”

“Ah— apologies. I was… thinking.”

“Can I ask what about?”

“Mira.”

Elma hums under her breath in acknowledgment. The sun’s beginning to encroach upon the border between clouds and sky, casting a strange orange glow over everything. For a split second, it almost looks as though the Cloud Sea is ignited.

“… You could come back with me. BLADE could really use someone like you, with your talents.”

It’s tempting. But. “Mor Ardain needs me first.”

“Sure. I wouldn’t want to steal you away from your people.” Elma puts a hand to her chin, watching the lights reflect off the clouds. “Just for a short while. The portal in Uraya doesn’t seem like it'll be closing up anytime soon.”

“Now doesn’t seem like a particularly good time to take a holiday.”

Elma actually sort of laughs at that. “Of course not. But when Alrest’s future is secured, I’d like to show you the sunrise from the highest peak in Primordia. Trust me, you haven’t seen anything like it before.”

The world is truly a wondrous place. Mòrag drags her heel in the dirt, still thinking of ether and miranium and Blades and BLADE. She’s curious, she really is. Nearly as curious as she is about Elma’s guns and swords. If… they truly can save Alrest, and the world is brought to peace, then there’d be no reason for her to refuse Elma’s offer after it’s all done and over with.

“I said I’d help your group out for the time being,” Elma says. “But after everything I’ve seen and learned so far, I don’t mind staying until the end of your journey.”

“But what of your world?”

“We beat the Ganglion and the Lifehold Core was secured. But…” There, it’s one of those moments where Elma can’t seem to grasp the answers she’s looking for. “I’m still needed, where I come from.”

“As am I.”

Elma tilts her head. “I think the expression goes, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours?”

Mòrag softly huffs. It’s strange, how _Elma_ is so strange, while she seems so infinitely wise yet cautious and wary all at the same time. There’s been plenty of reasons for her to refuse letting anyone else wield her weapons. She’s no Blade, just a BLADE. But, if Mòrag had to guess, it’s simply because Elma’s careful to keep her distance from everyone.

But they’re here, watching the sunset together, so surely that must count for something.

“The invitation extends to everyone else, I hope,” Mòrag says with one brow raised.

Elma nods. “They’re a capable bunch, I’ll give them that. And Lin would love to meet Poppi. The company you keep is quite the colorful cast.”

“ _Our_ company.”

She stares at Mòrag for a long, long moment, scrutinizing her, unreadable behind her steady gaze. She’s been traveling with them long enough already, but still…

Mòrag hesitantly offers a hand. Elma’s stare moves down to it.

“We don’t expect you to bare all your secrets to us. However…”

Even if Elma won’t talk about herself, even if she remains an enigma throughout all these sunsets and when they can one day see Mira with their own eyes, it wouldn’t change the fact that she’s someone that can be trusted. Of that, Mòrag is certain of.

Elma unexpectedly places one of her swords in Mòrag’s extended hand.

“These are Carbide Blades, manufactured by Sakuraba. Want me to show you how to use them?”

Her eyes are glinting again, smiling with all those secrets she’s withholding. Mòrag wraps her hand around the cool metal of the sword’s hilt, so alien in her grasp, a different kind of energy from ether coursing through her veins. All she knows is that she wants to know more. She wants to learn. So she nods, excitement beginning to creep into her heartbeat.

“But I won’t call you my Driver,” Elma warns.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”


End file.
